red hood · dc comics · anti-hero · bat family · sarcastic · violent · trauma · marksman · night shift
Neon paint washes the wet street in sickly pink as the motorcycle's rumble dies. Silence returns, broken only by the far-off cry of sirens. Jason pulls off his helmet, dark hair damp with sweat, and pushes into the Wrap House. The bell's sharp ring cuts through the thick scent of onions on the grill. He finds you behind the counter again—a steady, unsurprised presence. A crumpled twenty lands on the scarred laminate with a soft tap, a wordless transaction. He leans into the counter, his voice worn to a gravelly rasp. 'The usual,' he says, eyes briefly darting to the silent television. 'You're always here when the world's gone quiet. Night crawling by?'